Caring
by allthingsdecent
Summary: House's behavior finally gets Cuddy into big trouble. Takes place after the events of Living the Dream.


"I need you to help me figure out how to nullify this idiotic DNR form," House said, wielding the offending paperwork and limping purposefully into Cuddy's office.

He stopped abruptly, and scowled.

"Who the hell are you?" he said.

"I'm Dr. Lawson. And you must be Dr. House."

"What are you doing at Cuddy's desk?"

"This is not Dr. Cuddy's desk anymore," Lawson said.

"Are you some sort of escapee from the psych ward?" House said, looking around. "Do you also think you're the King of Prussia?"

"There's no need to be rude, Dr. House. I'm the acting Dean of Medicine."

House folded his arms.

"Funny story: We don't need an acting Dean of Medicine," he said. "Because we have an _actual_ Dean of Medicine."

"Dr. Cuddy has been put on administrative leave," said Lawson, straightening some papers on the desk as if to prove to House that the desk—and everything on it—was now his. "I'm here in an indefinite capacity until some decisions are made about her future."

"Administrative leave?" House said. He was officially freaking out now, but trying not to let it show.

"Yes," Lawson said.

"What for?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that. All I can say is that, I've been amply warned about you. In fact, the board brought me precisely _because_ of my reputation as a disciplinarian. So don't think that just because there's a 'substitute teacher'"—he put air quotes around the word—"you can try any of your usual shenanigans."

"_Shenanigans_?" House said, smirking. "I prefer the term tomfoolery. Or if I'm feeling really frisky, wacky high jinks."

Lawson smiled in a tolerant sort of way.

"I hope to get this relationship off on the right foot. So anything you might've said to Dr. Cuddy you can now feel free to say to me."

"Your ass looks good in those pants," House attempted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"No, it doesn't work with you. I need Cuddy. Get her back."

"That's not my call, Dr. House. . .you were saying something about a DNR form?"

House looked at him, his mouth hanging open a bit.

"Forget it," he said.

#####

He marched straight into Wilson's office.

"What do you know about Cuddy and some sort of administrative leave?" he demanded.

Wilson sighed.

"I just got off the phone with her," he said.

"And?"

"It's true. They suspended her."

"What for?" House said.

"Why do you think House?" Wilson said. The tiniest bit of anger had crept into his voice.

"Because of _me_?"

"Yeah, because of you, genius. Remember that accreditor who was here last month? He filed his report to the board. Apparently, they don't look kindly on food in the morgue and meds being administered behind a patient's back. They called an emergency meeting and now she's been suspended."

"For how long?"

"She doesn't know. There's going to be a second meeting on the matter next month. She said she might have a better sense of her fate then."

"She could . . . lose her job?" House said. He slumped into a chair.

"I think so. She said it was bad. In her own words, she was 'dressed down.'"

"But they can't do that to her, can they?" House said.

"Of course they can, House. It's their hospital. They can do whatever they want."

"We need to get her back," House said.

"It's not that easy, House."

"But if Cuddy gets fired, she'll never be able to work in a hospital again."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you flaunted your insubordination in front of the accreditor," Wilson said.

House groaned.

"Jesus, Wilson. Are you trying to make me feel worse?"

"Actually, I wasn't aware that you felt badly at all, House. Are you even _capable_ of feeling guilt?"

"Of course. I feel like shit."

Wilson looked at him.

"Then maybe it's time you started to think about the consequences of your actions."

"I think about saving people's lives," House said defensively. "Not about the administrative fall-out."

"Well, in this case, the administrative fall-out, as you so eloquently put it, might get Cuddy fired."

House put his head in his hands. He was thinking.

"They should suspend me, not her," he said finally. "I'm the one who broke the rules. She didn't do anything wrong."

"Her job is to manage you—well, to run an entire hospital _and_ manage you, but I think we both know which of those duties takes up most of her time. In the board's eyes, she failed at that."

House squinted at him. A hopeful, if dim, idea had popped in his head.

"Are you two just messing with me to teach me a lesson? Because, if so, message received, loud and clear. I won't 'flaunt my insubordination' ever again."

"It's no joke, House," said Wilson. "Cuddy's really been suspended. And she could really lose her job."

#######

That night, he went to her house, banged on the door.

Much to his surprise, Wilson answered.

He could see Cuddy on her couch in the background. She was dressed in a very un-Cuddy-like way: sweat pants and a robe. She was sipping tea.

For a brief, horrifying second, House thought that she and Wilson might be sleeping together. But then he pulled himself together. She's just leaning on the shoulder of her favorite gal-pal, he told himself.

"I assume you two have begun strategizing," House said, beginning to step into the house.

Wilson blocked his entrance.

"House, she doesn't want to see you," he said quietly.

House gave him an annoyed look, stepped forward again. Wilson blocked him again, only a little more forcefully this time.

"Get out of my way, Wilson," House growled.

"What part of, 'She doesn't want to see you' don't you understand?"

"I know she's mad. . . but that's why I'm here," House said. "To help."

"She doesn't want your help. She thinks you've done enough damage already."

House craned his neck look at Cuddy. She wasn't looking at the door. She was still sitting on the couch, hugging her knees. She had always seemed so powerful to him—invincible even—but in this moment there was a vulnerability about her. She seemed tiny, almost birdlike.

"Is there anything I can do?" he said, feebly.

"Just go home House. Just leave her be."

House craned his neck one more time, tried to get her attention. She didn't turn around.

"Fine," he said.

Wilson strode back into the living room.

"Is he gone?" Cuddy said.

"Yeah," Wilson said.

"Good."

She looked out the window and watched House's shadowy figure limp slowly back to his car.

######

"Inspector Jamie Conway please."

"Speaking."

"Inspector Conway, this is Dr. Gregory House over at Princeton Plainsboro."

There was a small pause.

"Dr. House, I'm not allowed to discuss case files with anyone outside this office."

"Are you aware of the fact that the _incredibly bogus_ report you filed may have gotten a woman fired?"

"I wasn't aware of that, Dr. House. But it's not my concern. I just do my job. I go to the hospital, I observe, I file the report and then I move onto the next hospital."

"Like a Merchant of Death," House muttered.

"My reports serve to _protect _hospitals—and their patients."

"Well, this report did neither. This report was a complete sham and may've left the best dean of medicine in the country out of a job."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. It can be easily fixed. I just need you to recant the report."

"You what?"

"I need you to file a new report where you explain that the old report was completely inaccurate."

"But it wasn't."

"Don't you think it's just a tiny bit presumptuous of you to come into a hospital for a few days and think you understand anything about the intricacies of how it's run? Anything about the very specific, very _personal_ relationship between the doctors and the administrators?"

"That's how the process works," Conway said. "It's fair. It's the same for every hospital."

"Well, hospitals are like snowflakes. No two are alike. Now refile the damn report."

"Dr. House, even if I could re-file the report—which I can't, by the way—I wouldn't. I stand by my report. And my appraisal of Dr. Cuddy."

"But you must've thought we did something right," House said hopefully. "The hospital was accredited. We passed."

"Barely," Conway said.

"How do you sleep at night, knowing that you might have destroyed a woman's career?"

"Dr. House, if you're feeling upset about the sanctions placed against Dr. Cuddy, I suggest you look in a mirror."

House bristled.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The hospital would've gotten a glowing review if it weren't for you. Now don't call here again or I will inform the review board that Dr. Cuddy _still_ has no control over her rogue physician."

And he hung up.

House looked at the receiver for a long time.

"Crap," he said.

######

He ignored Conway's words and tried to talk to him again—this time in his New York office. He was "escorted" out by security guards. Then he staged an elaborate sting operation—it involved hiring a prostitute to call Conway and claim that he had won courtside seats to the Knicks at Madison Square Garden—but as soon as Conway saw House waiting for him in front of the box office, he turned and walked quickly away.

House felt trapped. He couldn't reason with this Conway guy. He couldn't talk to Cuddy. He decided there was only one thing he could do.

"Sanford Wells please," he said into the phone.

"May I ask who's calling?"

"It's Dr. Greg—"

Just then, two fingers reached down and disconnected the phone.

House looked up. It was Wilson.

"What the hell are you doing?" House said.

"What the hell are _you_ doing?"

"Calling Sanford Wells," House said.

"To do what?"

"None of your business," House said.

"House, if you think you can successfully lobby the chairman of the board on Cuddy's behalf, you're wrong. You're only going to make things worse."

"I wasn't planning on lobbying him," House said.

"Then what were you planning to do?"

"Threaten to quit," House mumbled.

"So you'll quit if they don't reinstate her? That sort of thing?"

"Exactly."

"What a dumb plan," Wilson said.

"Why?" House said, offended.

"Because, well, let's see. . . it could work. . .or it could end up with _both of you fired_. How is that helping Cuddy?"

House looked at the floor.

"I don't know how else to help her, Wilson. She won't let me."

"Just let the process play itself out. And trust in Cuddy's ability to take care of herself."

House scratched his head.

"How is she?" he said finally.

"First she was humiliated, depressed. Now she's defiant. She's been consulting with a lawyer."

"Good girl," said House, nodding in approval. "Think she might be willing to talk to me yet?"

"My sources say no."

######

He tried all the same, that night. He banged on her door again. Then banged some more.

"_Stelllllllla_!" he yelled, doing his best Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire.

This time, she answered the door.

"Go away, House," she said. Clearly she wasn't amused by his impression.

"We need to talk," he said. He peered into the room. It was empty.

"No, we don't. I can't deal with you right now, okay? I want you to leave."

Once again, she was dressed down, in a blue sweatshirt and boxer shorts. He'd always been turned on by Cuddy's power suits with plunging necklines—he loved a woman who knew how to dress like a woman—but he found himself strangely drawn to her like this. He wanted to take her in his arms and protect her from all the troubles of the world.

Instead, he said: "Stop being a stubborn ass and let me help you."

"Screw you, House."

She went to slam the door but he caught it. He was really running out of ideas: Charm, patience, tough love. Nothing seemed to be working.

"Cuddy," he said, blinking at her. "I'm sorry."

It was the first time he'd actually said the words.

She sighed, looked at him.

"I know you are, House. But this is not about you being sorry. This is about you not caring about who or what you hurt, as long as you get to do exactly what you want when you want to do it."

"I care," he said.

"Bullshit," she said.

"Alright, I don't care about most people," he admitted. "But I care about you."

She closed her eyes. Her shoulders went slack. For a long second, it seemed like maybe she would soften, let him in—maybe even kiss him. He sure as hell wanted to kiss her.

Instead, she closed the door and turned out the light and left him standing there, alone.

######

The next day, she told Wilson about House's visit.

"He says he cares about me," she said, "but he really only cares about himself."

"I don't think that's fair," Wilson countered. "He's been positively frantic since your suspension. All he does now is obsess over how to get you back."

Cuddy snorted.

"Because he knows he can deal with me. A new dean might not be as forgiving of his methods."

"He was going to threaten to quit if they didn't reinstate you," Wilson said.

That took her by surprise.

"He was?" she said. "What stopped him?"

"I did," Wilson said evenly. "He's of no good to anyone—himself, you, certainly not his patients—if he gets fired."

Cuddy nodded, felt a little guilty that she'd even entertained the idea.

"You're right," she said. Then she chuckled. "Frantic huh?"

Wilson smiled.

"You know how House gets when he's obsessed."

He told Cuddy about the phone calls to Conway, the ill-advised visit to his office, the fake courtside seats.

"I'd tell you what he's up to now, but you probably don't want to know," Wilson said.

Cuddy shook her head wearily.

"You're probably right about that."

####

It was actually a conversation with Wilson—for a change— that gave him the idea.

"It's ironic that they're thinking of hiring a replacement to deal with you since Cuddy is the only dean in the country who _can_ deal with you," Wilson had said.

House got that look in his eyes.

"You're right," he said.

So he launched Operation Get Lawson Out. It was simple—bend the rules of the hospital just enough so as to drive Lawson crazy. And make sure all truly illegal acts could not be traced back to him.

So House incorporated air raid sirens into his treatment, noting that his patient had sound-induced seizure disorder but was also partially deaf. He let another patient walk around the hospital naked, explaining that she belonged to a nudist church and forcing her to wear clothes would be violation of her First Amendment rights. He held a sit-in in the cafeteria, until Lawson agreed to restock the chocolate milk. He told the nurses that George Clooney was at the hospital for an emergency appendectomy and watched, amused, as chaos ensued. He snuck into Lawson's office overnight and coated his entire office in aluminum foil. He scrambled all the numbers in the hospital directory. And on and on he went.

"I can't deal with this maniac, he's driving me nuts," Lawson told the board. "He's 48 going on 8."

Just be patient, they told him, he's testing you.

"Let him test somebody else," Lawson said. "I quit."

So they tried someone else: A 62 year old Chinese immunologist named Dr. Lana Chao. She lasted all of two days.

Then they tried to promote from within, discussing the job with the head of surgery, Dr. Roland Feldman.

"You've got to be kidding if you think I'm going to be a professional babysitter for House," Feldman said.

They had two options: Fire House, the hospital's internationally renowned diagnostician and greatest asset, or reinstate Dr. Cuddy.

"Get Dr. Cuddy on the phone," Sanford Wells said.

######

They had a party for her in the staff lounge when she got back. There was a cake—"We're Keen on Our Dean" it read—and a makeshift dartboard fashioned out of a Xeroxed photo of Lawson's face.

There was champagne and a general mood of giddiness and most of the doctor's and nurses attended. Except, of course, for House.

It was well past 9 pm, but Cuddy had a hunch, knowing him as she did, that he was in his office. (House had a masochistic tendency to lurk on the sidelines of people who were actually having a good time.)

So she left the party and wandered up to his office.

Indeed, he was sitting at his desk looking at a case file.

"Why aren't you at my party?" she demanded. She smiled at him for the first time in a month—a slightly flirty, slightly tipsy smile.

"Because you're not talking to me," he said, leaning back in his chair, taking her in.

She made a face. Gestured to herself, then him.

"This is me," she said. "Talking to you."

"Ah," he said.

"I don't know how—and I'm pretty sure I don't want to know—but I have it on good authority that you're the one who got me reinstated. So thank you."

"You're welcome," House said.

"And whatever you did, it was quite effective. I got a raise and a new contract."

"I'm glad," House said. "And I promise to never subvert your authority again. Well, at least not until it's really important."

She laughed, then cocked her head toward the door.

"So you coming to my party, or what?"

"Maybe later," he said.

They both knew he was lying.

"House?" she stepped closer to his desk.

"Yes Cuddy?"

"You care about me."

"Shut up," he said.

She placed her palms on the desk. She was back to the powersuits again—once again in control.

"I care about you, too."

And she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

He was stunned. Her lips felt lush and slightly champagne-kissed and her cleavage was poking tantalizingly from her blouse. He went to grab her for a longer kiss, but she took a step backward.

"Goodnight, Dr. House," she said.

He gave a slightly defeated smile.

"Goodnight, Dean Cuddy."

THE END


End file.
